


3.00 A.M.

by circus (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 19:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/circus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sammy, what the fuck?”</p><p>“Hold that last word right there, Dean,” Sam whispered, and leaned over and kissed him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3.00 A.M.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Batman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batman/gifts).



**_1990_  **

 

“Dean?” Sam looked up from his homework. The lamp was shining over his book and the light fell in streaks over the carpet where Dean was lying on his stomach. It striped him black and yellow, like some strange beautiful cat, and as Dean’s green eyes turned to him and the yellow glinted in the emerald like something divine, Sam’s breath caught.

“Hm?”

Sam suddenly like going down on his knees and _holding_ his brother’s face in his hands, just _holding_ that perfect, smooth jaw and looking into those angelic eyes and hearing that velvet voice. Dean wouldn’t take it nicely, though.

“Uh, is,” Sam’s throat clogged.

“Sammy?”

“I, uh, is _Dad_ …”

He had actually just wanted to ask if Dean had gotten a call from Dad and if he was alright, if maybe he’d be back by tonight… but Dean was looking so hellishly beautiful he’d forgotten everything and the fact that Dean was just _right_ there, his and still not his… and oh _damn_ , Dean was asking what was wrong. What was there to say? “Hey Dean I want you to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I mean, I’m sure we _will_ , but I don’t mean _that_ way.”

 _Oh, Sam, you’re a genius,_ Dean would say, and then swing him three rounds without stopping.

“Sammy?” Dean was sitting right ne - oh heavens above, Dean had picked him up onto his lap. This was… surprisingly amazing.

“Dean…” Sam started to say.

“What’s wrong, Sammy?” The elder brother brushed his Sammy’s bangs out of those lively earth-brown eyes.

 _You’re like a bird,_ Dean wanted to say. _You’re a pretty little helpless bird and you hold my whole life, my whole heart in those feathers of yours, please please don’t let me down_.

Sam kept staring into those green orbs, trying to find the words to say -

Dean suddenly found himself having to hold a rather tumultous Sammy trying to hug him. Well, alright, this one time, he’d hug him.

 “Are - are we going to be okay?” Sam found himself whispering, stupid voice breaking, like a girl’s.

Dean was fairly puzzled. He’d known Sammy was a wuss, but not to _this_ extent. Perhaps his bird was more birdy than he thought.

“Yeah, sure we’re going to be okay?”

Lame. But who said Dean Winchester was a therapist?

 

Sam laid his head on Dean’s shoulder as Dean rocked him back and forth. _This feels nice_ , Sam thought to himself. He put a hand around Dean’s neck.

Pulses rocketed. Sam was actually getting dizzy.

The clock blinked. _2.58 A.M._

“Alright, Sammy?” Dean asked.

 _2.59 A.M._ “I… guess.”

Sam leaned over and kissed that gorgeous jaw.

 _3.00 A.M._

As a completing-the-process step, Sam bumped his head against Dean’s shoulder uncomfortably, then hopped off silently to his bed. Dean just sat there, in shock. Then he caught sight of Sam’s open notebook. _Dean Winchester_ was scrawled all across it. With cheesy hearts, too.

 _4.05 A.M._ Dean had managed to fall asleep by this time. After an hour of trauma. His last thought was, _I can’t believe that little bitch beat me to it_.

Sam was still awake. As soon as Dean’s snores floated into his hearing, he flipped over and reached for his journal.

 **Today I did it** , he wrote hurriedly and rolled back onto his pillow, a happy grin on his face, homework forgotten.

 

 

 **_ 2007 _ **

Dad was gone. Dad was gone, _gone_ , gone.

And Dean was mourning. Despite whatever shit he said about how it didn’t bother him, Dean was mourning.

 

 _2.30 A.M._ the clock showed.

 

Moonlight glowed through the motel window and Dean was sprawled across the rug, hypnotized by the TV screen. Sam came into the room.

“What’re you watching?” he asked, vaguely wondering what could be so interesting at three in the morning.

“Shut your trap, bitch, Shaggy’s gonna solve this thing!”

Sam was dumbstruck. Scooby Do. Dean was watching _Scooby Do_. _Well_ , Sam thought, _the world is definitely ending_.

“I, uh, got some pie.”

“You’re serious?!” Oh, Dean was so predictable.

“Yeah. Here,” Sam replied, and handed him the packet.

“Aaah, there’s a good boy Sammy,” Dean grinned, and rubbed Sam’s head.

“Get away from me,” Sam mumbled, ducking and going to his bed.

“Eh, this pie is _good_!” Dean yelled, muffled through the enormous amount of apple pie in his mouth.

Sam nodded, vaguely, and turned off the TV. Dean didn’t even bat an eyelash, so absorbed was he in the pie.

 

 _2.45 A.M._ Dean rolled up the aluminium and threw it in the dustbin. “I’m telling you, that pie was to die for,” he muttered, thickly. Sam sat cross legged on his bed and stared at his elder brother, idol, god, soul, life, love, heart, _everything_ flump back onto the other bed and roll over. “Eh, Sammy! Where’s my blanket?” Dean yelled. Sam might make a slight fuss about being called for giving him his blanket back when he’d specifically said he didn’t want it before, but he didn’t really mind, it was just another thing he could do for the one person who made life worth living, the person who was the sole _reason_ of his life. So Sam made a fuss and got the blanket and called the love of his life a jerk and threw the blanket hard across his idol’s head who cursed and called him a bitch but he didn’t mind, he didn’t mind, he loved Dean and Dean loved Sam and Dean was mourning for Dad and he, Sam, was not going to be okay with that but Dean needed a _little_ time to himself before Sam did something stupid again. He had no idea what stupid thing he was going to do, but he knew something stupid would happen. And Dean didn’t usually do the stupid things.

 

 _2.55 A.M._ “Hey Dean?”

Sam’s elder brother grumbled. “What the fuck? I was asleep.”

“Yeah, and dreaming about Angelina Jolie, too.”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, I - ” and here Sam suddenly stood up and walked over to the side of Dean’s bed and sat there _and GOOD FUCKING GOD WHAT WAS HE DOING?! ­_ \- “Want to interrupt whatever you were dreaming about.”

“‘S not an interruption,” Dean mumbled, smiling sleepily. Sam was in shock. This was rather wrong. Dean did not smile sleepily. This was very wrong. He did not sorta giggle and take a firmer hold of his pillow and not mind when Sam wakes him up.

However, since nothing was going right, and the moonlight was already so beautiful and it was streaming across Dean’s face and it made him look so gorgeous and that sleepily smile was so adorable and Sam didn’t give a rat’s ass that he was leaning so close to Dean that Dean’s breath was on his face and it felt so good to be right there and - “Sammy, what the fuck?”

“Hold that last word right there, Dean,” Sam whispered, and leaned over and kissed him.

This second time, Dean was ready for it.

 _3.00 A.M._


End file.
